


Where in the World

by Willam



Series: (Our love is found) Between the Waking and the Dreaming [8]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Consent Issues, Eames is pretty persistant, Emotions, Fluff, M/M, Mutual Pining, Partners to Lovers, Post-Inception, Slow Burn, in that Arthur says no and Eames persists
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-13
Updated: 2016-06-13
Packaged: 2018-07-14 19:16:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,609
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7186757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Willam/pseuds/Willam
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As with everything else, Eames never does listen to Arthur</p>
            </blockquote>





	Where in the World

Eames let his eyes trail after Cobb as he walked through the gate, finally going home. He turned back to Arthur as the slimmer man jerked his luggage off the carousel. Eames cleared his throat and started towards Arthur. The other man stopped, regarding Eames with a quirked eyebrow. Eames cleared his throat again, straightening his jacket.

“Yes Mr. Eames?” asked Arthur.

“Would you like to go for a drink with me Darling?”

“No. Your luggage has come around.”

Eames turned briefly to the luggage carousel, but doesn’t see his bag. He turns back in time to see Arthur weaving his way through the crowd. He grinned to himself.  
“Sneaky bugger.”

Arthur stepped of the plane in Miami, desperate to get at least a small amount of relaxation in before putting his life (and sanity) on the line again. He had always liked the Florida town because it had all the drinks and beaches he could want, but they also had great style sense. He passed a young man at the bar who almost fell off his stool following Arthur’s ass. He smiled to himself. Tons of beautiful single adults looking for nothing but good memories too, which was always a big plus in his line of work.

Arthur checked in to his room at The Palms and changed into a linen shirt and light slacks. He poured himself a scotch from the mini bar and went out onto his balcony. He couldn’t get Eames out of his head. He wanted so badly to have that drink with him, but he knew it wouldn’t stop there. He wanted Eames. He had never wanted someone so badly, but Arthur didn’t like to form attachments. It gave people the opportunity to abandon him, to take advantage. He didn’t think Eames was like that, but you could never tell.  
Arthur sighed as he heaved himself out of the chair. He changed again and, leaving his empty glass on the desk, went out dancing.

Arthur stumbled into his room alone sometime around four in the morning. He had lost his shirt at some point between dance partners, and he was grinning somewhat lopsidedly from the many drinks he’d been plied with. There had been many sad faces when he had insisted on going home alone. He had still had Eames on the brain. He collapsed face first onto the bed, still grinning widely, thinking of the forger. Something hard was poking him rather painfully and he rolled onto his side to empty his pockets. His cellphone bounced on his mattress, the light on the top blinking wildly. He mashed the keypad drunkenly and the screen lit up, causing Arthur to squint. A new voicemail was waiting for him. He punched in his code and waited for the audio, the phone next to his ear.

_Hello Darling, it’s Eames. Where ever you are in the world, have a drink with me._

Arthur smiled softly and rolled himself unsteadily out of the bed. He stumbled over to the mini bar and poured himself a gin and tonic. Some four thousand miles away in London Eames nursed a whiskey while he dreamed of coming home to Arthur.

Arthur ran through the streets of Dubai, weaving between the tourists and the slum rats. The PASIV slammed against his legs as he darted through the crowded streets, the hired guns hot on his tail. If he lived through this, he was going to find that chemist and put a bullet in his head. The mark had woken up a full hour before he was supposed to and Arthur had barely had enough time to grab his suitcase and run before the man’s security team closed in on him. He spotted a tourist hotspot, complete with a line of rickshaws. He slid quickly into the nearest one and flashed a wad of rupees at the driver. The man tried speaking to him in Indian, probably trying to figure out where Arthur was going. Arthur just shook his head and waved his arms at the man, swinging around to check over his shoulder for the thugs. 

“Drive! Anywhere, just fast! GO!”

The man took off, running as fast as he could in the thick crowd. Arthur clutched the briefcase to his chest, leaning back against the seat. He closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing. The man pulled over at a hotel crawling with tourists, probably figuring from Arthur’s American accent that this was where he wanted to go. Since it was safer than going to his own hotel room at that moment in time, Arthur paid the man handsomely and tipped him almost seventy percent. The man tried to argue with Arthur, pressing the money back at him. Arthur smiled politely and refused, turning up the path to the hotel.

He booked a single on the ground floor, near an exit, and locked the PASIV in the room safe. Then he dialled his client and told them about the failure. They weren’t too happy, but promised Arthur the less-than-stellar chemist would be taken care of. They recommended Arthur wait several days before returning for his things, and Arthur was inclined to oblige.

Arthur went out through the sliding doors to the pool behind his room. He draped his suit jacket on the back of a lawn chair and sat down in it. His phone vibrated in his pocket. 

He had a voicemail.

_Hello Darling. Where ever you are in the world, we’re under the same sun._

Arthur smiled to himself and settled back in the moist Indian heat, letting the sun warm him from the inside out.

Arthur celebrated his birthday alone, stranded in Siberia. He had come out to do a job for the Russian Mafia, who were convinced that someone in their organisation had been selling information about American cells to the FBI. Arthur, however, arrived to find that someone had taken matters into their own hands and simply whacked the informant instead of finding out the extent of his betrayals. The Mob agreed to pay for his time and lodgings but a severe snowstorm had grounded all the planes in and out of the country and he was stuck. To make it worse the foul weather was also blocking any hope he had of getting a cell signal.

Arthur spent his birthday in the completely deserted restaurant in the lobby of his draft-filled hotel. He was the only guest staying there and the hotel staff wasn’t really very keen to talk to an American. Arthur downed copious amounts of fine Russian vodka and a good pound of caviar. It was his birthday, why shouldn’t he treat himself. When the room started to spin he fumbled himself over to the elevator and made his way up to his room. He collapsed full-clothed onto his bed, humming Happy Birthday to himself.

He woke sometime in the middle of the night to an incessant beeping coming from his phone. He blinked at it confused, as he shouldn’t have a signal, let alone a voicemail. He sluggishly raised his phone to his ear, rubbing his face with the other hand.

_Where ever you are in the world Darling, the stars are falling just for you. Happy Birthday._

Arthur, now thoroughly confused, rolled himself out of bed and padded lopsidedly to the window. Opening the heavy curtain, he inhaled sharply. Over the still city in front of him, hundreds of stars were streaking through the sky. It was a meteor shower. Both Arthur and Eames watched the wonderful act of nature until the sun rose, standing at their windows, cities and countries apart.

Eames stumbled home from the airport, fresh off the red eye from Chicago to London. He missed the door with his key several times, dropping it completely on his third try. He sat down hard on his front mat and breathed deeply, resting his back against his front door. He was very tired. He had been running around the Windy City for three days trying to find a mark that seemed to have the ability to walk through walls. He grabbed his keys off the stoop and heaved himself up. He had a week here in his own flat to figure out how to finish the job before he had to get back, and he intended first to catch up on his sleep.

As he entered the front door, he instantly knew something wasn’t right. Someone was in his flat. He dropped his keys onto the front hall carpet to stop them from jingling and drew his pistol. He swept quickly through the house, finding the intruder in the living room, reading the titles arranged on his bookshelf. He lowered the weapon immediately when the other man turned to smile at him. He crossed the room swiftly and gather the darker man into his arms, kissing him deeply.

Eames didn’t hear the voicemail until the next morning. He noticed the light on his phone as he watched the soft rise and fall of Arthur’s breathing as he slept. He reached over his slumbering partner for his phone, watching the way the sunlight fell across the pale skin of Arthur’s naked back. He sat back against the headboard for a minute, just admiring the beauty of the man in front of him before he punched in his code and listened to his voicemail.

_Hello Eames, it’s Arthur. Where ever you are in the world, I love you. I’ve always loved you. I’m waiting in your house right now, and when you come home I plan to make love to you, so hurry back. I’ll see you soon._


End file.
